The best intersectionality books

This book is written for the millions of well-intentioned travellers and volunteers who travel to low-income countries to learn about and “help” people and cultures different from their own. Taranath unflinchingly confronts the awkward feelings of guilt, shame, and excess privilege that inevitably arise from international (and even inter-neighbourhood) travel. In their place, she offers a more nuanced look at how we fit in the intersectional jigsaw puzzle of global inequity, and how we can work to transform these feelings into the capacity to work towards justice. 

Beyond Guilt Trips is an essential companion to all those leading, engaging in, or contemplating travel, to ensure they embark on an inwards journey that mirrors the outward one.

Ana on the Edge is a powerful novel about figure skating and gender identity that’s equally perfect for figure skating enthusiasts and kids looking for LGBTQIA+ stories. It’s obvious from the first page that the author is a figure skater who knows the sport intimately, but the sparkling skating scenes are just as fun and accessible for readers who watch the occasional Olympic figure skating competition as they would be for insiders. And the most special part of this book is the poignant way it depicts a kid who is figuring out the gender identity that feels right while competing in a very gendered sport. I loved Ana and could not put this book down; I know many readers will feel the same.

Levenstein’s subtitle says it all: we generally don’t think there was a ‘90s feminism. Her book pairs especially well with the others on this list, because it demonstrates how women of color took the lead in an intersectional feminism that focused on a huge range of issues at the end of the 20th century. It’s also a great read about the role of the early internet in 1990s feminist organizing. If you think social media was the first time computer technology shaped grassroots activism, her chapter on technology alone will blow your mind.

Whenever I read a Cat Sebastian, I sigh in envy at how well she writes nuanced characters with nuanced emotions.

In Soldier’s Scoundrel, two heroes from very different backgrounds unite around a single goal.

From Jack’s perspective, we see the challenges of poverty and classism. From Oliver, we see a veteran trying to adjust to everyday life.

Together, they try to protect and defend women from physical, emotional, and economic abuse. Their love story is beautiful, requires them to pierce layers of their psyches to find vulnerability, and makes you feel all of the feels.

Even better, by the end of the novel, I had a new perspective on how the patriarchy works in societal systems. This is a read that made my empathy grow like the Grinch’s heart! 

This book gets at questions near and dear to my own ethnographic explorations, namely how migration changes gender roles in households. Women don’t leave home without figuring out care for young children and frail elders. Tanja Bastia looks at how Bolivian families handle the challenge of transnational parenting. Grandmothers often fill in for their migrant daughters (there’s the aging connection!), and migrant women struggle to balance their financial opportunities with the social stigma of having ‘abandoned’ their children in search of wealth.  

The editors and contributing authors present research and theory interspersed with unique personal experiences of the journey taken by first-generation students as they move through college. The volume provides the reader with up-to-date data on two- and four-year colleges, and discusses the intersection of first-generation status with varied student identities including LGBT, low-income, African-American, Latinx, Native American, and undocumented. The last section of the book offers an introduction to practices, policies, and programs across the U.S., and directs educators, policymakers, and administrators to make campuses inclusive for diverse first-generation college students. At the Intersection is a resource for understanding and effectively responding to first-generation students’ divergent, shared, and intersectional identities in order to understand and alter their access, retention, learning, and well-being on the college campus.

Bottici is another such friend at first reading, another partisan of the Spinozan current, but one deeply immersed in the feminist thought that Colson regrettably ignores. Hers is a fully intersectional feminism, attending especially to the margins of society, where its freaks and pariahs live. Like Colson, she offers opportunities for difficult thinking that reward us with new vistas, new possibilities for life.

I believe a society’s resilience does not happen by coddling, oppressing, or marginalizing the disabled (or any minority group), but by fostering holistic, inclusive communities that move in cinque. We Move Together is a picture book about disability justice designed for intergenerational sharing. It is appropriate for all ages as it simply states we as a society move best together no matter of disability, race, gender, or age. The brilliance of this straightforward assertion is its universal intersectionality. The book contains helpful explanations of statements in the verses along with resources for learning more in the back. I love this message! Removing barriers to access, communication, work, relationships, and living independent and self-determined lives helps everyone and fosters healthy democracy.

As an undergrad, I was blessed to have two professors who changed the course of my life: Angela Davis and Whitney Chadwick. Both of these professors discussed the intersectionality of gender, race, and class. Women, Art, and Society was published in 1990, and in 2020, the sixth edition was released. Although women artists’ representation in art history pedagogy has improved since 1990, the art world in general still favors men over women, making Chadwick’s book a relevant read. It provides a historical and critical look at women artists from the Middle Ages to the present, covering a range of media and artists from various cultural and geographical backgrounds. It challenges the assumption that great women artists are the exception to the rule and charts the evolution of feminist art history. 

I have been a fan of Marieke Nijkamp ever since I read This Is Where It Ends. She is such a powerful writer. The way she delves into the psychology of her characters had me riveted. Even if We Break is a layered story with a slower pace than the other books I’ve chosen, but the characters feel so real. I found myself thinking about them long after I closed the book. The creepy factor snuck up on me and then sunk its claws in deep. I was unsettled in the best way. It's a step off the beaten path of your standard isolation thrillers, but one I highly recommend taking if why people do the bad things they do is as important to you as how. 

Heart of the Race is the single most important text of British black feminism. First published in 1985, the book captures the collective experience of black women in Britain and its colonies, highlighting how the long history of slavery and empire, and women’s resistance to them, continues into the present with struggles over healthcare, education, migration, and work. Coming out of the work of the pioneering Organisation of Women of African and Asian Descent, the book carefully traces the ways that race, class, and gender are structured together in the lives of African-Caribbean women – what activists would today call “intersectionality.” The power of the book lies in the clarity of its analysis as well as its long extracts from the authors’ interviews with black women.

When I pick up a Courtney Milan historical romance, I know I will be hit in the heart with a story that is as insightful as it is moving.

The only question was which of her books to include in this list!

I chose The Duke Who Didn’t because it explores class, race, and gender roles in the delightful setting of a small town in the English countryside hosting an annual sports festival.

The plot reckons with the aristocrat’s responsibility to his people, the challenges and joys of a working-class community, and the exploitation of non-British identities for profit.

And because it is a Courtney Milan novel, it does so with plenty of clever tropes and swoon-worthy romance!

In We Are Having This Conversation Now, Alexandra Juhasz and Theodore Kerr blow up the conventions of academic work on epidemics.

In a series of thirteen short dialogues they reflect as activists, media-makers, and scholars on the history, present, and future of AIDS. The reflections on AIDS-related culture and conversation they share, will spark for readers critical questions about how personal experiences, community, cultural production, and interpersonal relations come together.

Doing this kind of reflective work is particularly important now, as we need to begin to understand not only HIV/AIDS, but how it impacts the experience of living amidst other viral pandemics including COVID-19. 

Anna Julia Cooper is one of the nineteen and twentieth American philosophers I find most exciting.

Her book, A Voice from the South, is the first feminist book to introduce the idea of intersectionality! She spent her very long lifetime writing about education, women’s rights, racism, and she has a fascinating correspondence with the intellectuals of her time, including W.E.B Dubois.

But until recently getting hold of her writings wasn’t terribly easy, unless you were willing to read online, or had access to a good academic library.

This beautiful and cheap edition is a godsend and everyone should buy it. 

Nikki Baker is the first African-American writer of lesbian mysteries and her character Virginia Kelly—who works as a financial analyst in Chicago—is the first African-American lesbian sleuth. This makes it important, but what makes the book outstanding is the writing, especially the voice of the protagonist. The plots are slick and entertaining, but it is Virginia’s internal musings and interpersonal relationships that make this—and the other 3 books in the series—a clear 5-star winner. 

True Pretenses is a novel that took me by surprise.

The hero, Ash, is a Jewish man hiding his identity because of personal experience with violent antisemitism. Lydia is a well-meaning aristocrat who is more than a little out of touch with the rest of society.

Since Ash is a con man, there are some fun capers and misunderstandings – even more so once Lydia embraces him for who he is. For anyone looking for a tender historical romance that opens your eyes to a fresh slice of history – namely, Judaism in 19th century England – this is a book you can’t miss. 

A collection of very short but incredibly interesting and illuminating essays, this book inaugurated the field of study we might call “feminism and empire.” Strobel and Chaudhuri gathered up the most important histories written to that date that explained how nineteenth and twentieth-century feminism emerged from colonialist contexts all over the world. Asking the question “what difference does gender make?” each author teases out the importance of gender for colonial travel and politics in Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Reading this book made me want to contribute to that kind of historical understanding of gender, modeling for me what an “intersectional feminist” method of historical investigation might look like.